miami off

In all about the ride, miami, stateside on November 17, 2010 at 5:57 pm

So apart from the cold/chest infection I caught in Tokyo and the shingles/not shingles I had in Argentina/brazil, I’ve been pretty healthy on this trip and the only bike accidents I’ve had have been alcohol induced and my own fault, and haven’t been faster than 5/10mph.

Until I hit Miami, 1st full day on the bike and I’m just tooling around, trying to figure out the lay of the land, cruising up to the stretch of street where the shops and bars are, checking out the beach, just turning left and right, oh and trying to find a currency exchange – to change over some Brazilian reais and Argentinian pesos (who knew changing money could be so hard in America), rolled over to the apple store – to buy a new charger for the iPod and iPhone as the old one just quit working in Rio, and a bookstore – to grab some maps of the immediate area so I can navigate around this motherfucker.

So I’m heading back down a road, wide as all American roads are, car parked on the right before the junction, cars on my left, coming to a halt as the lights ahead are red. I can see the car immediately in front of me and to the left wants to squeeze the gap between the car in front and the parked car to its right to turn right at the junction – for y’all that don’t know you can turn right on red in the states, dependent on the state/city laws and junction rules – most junctions you can, some you can’t. So I can see what they want to do but I decide to hit the gap between them and the parked car anyway because they are making abortive attempts to squeeze that gap like a first time wrist slasher.

And I believe foolishly that they’ll be checking their mirrors.

They aren’t.

The abortive move becomes a positive one and I clip moving cars wing mirror, which sends me into parked cars wing mirror and fender and the world takes that crazy slow/quick Dutch angle tilt, like a camera on a tripod falling over as it films. And I’m on the floor, clips springing me clear of the bike, rolling over and ending up on my arse, as usual. And I’m standing up checking myself for injuries.

Grazes on elbow and knee, which promptly issue forth slow streams of crimson. The female driver is out of the door, telling me that she didn’t see me and i want to tell her if she’d used her mirrors she would have, and there’s an old man on the kerb, close to where I’ve gone down whose staring saying next time I won’t be there,because I shouldn’t be there and I feel to ask him where should I be, adding a, for fuckssakes on the end for good measure.

But I don’t. I examine my wounds, reassure the older woman that I’m alright, examine the bike, straighten the stem and ride off towards the pharmacy wondering how much plasters will cost in this town as the ones I’m carrying aren’t big enough to cover these new road rashes…

Get to the pharmacy and spend some coinage on plasters and antiseptic salve, and whatnot. Woman working in the big pharmacy/corner store/whatever it is, informs me that I’m bleeding all over the floor, as if I didn’t know. I really want to laugh at this point, but I don’t I think it should have been obvious that I knew I was bleeding, who is generally oblivious when they are bleeding?

So anyway long story short, I purchase the necessary and head back to the hostel for the cleansing/covering of wounds. What I don’t take into account is the humidity making it practically impossible for plasters to stick to flesh as I’m sweating so much. I return to the pharmacy a couple of hours later and buy some durable coverings, and they don’t stick either.

I then decide that letting it air dry and scab over is the best thing for it. Must not pick scab, must not!

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